


How It Should Have Been

by LadyKakata



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jonaerys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-01-03 16:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKakata/pseuds/LadyKakata
Summary: Blood, Death, Betrayal, Love ... Winter is Here, Winterfell stands ready, King's Landing shivers, and the lineage of a King is called into question. What does it mean for him, his family, and the woman he loves? What will it mean for the War for the Dawn? A pro-Jonaerys, anti-S8 fic that seeks to undo some terrible character arcs and decisions.WARNING: This fic will be pretty much pro-Team Targaryen, so be warned. It won't be as 'out there' as A Kiss of Fire, so a tamer one for those who want Jonaerys without eggos!





	1. In the Crypts

"Your name ... is Aegon Targaryen"

Jon could not stop hearing Sam's words, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted nothing more than to make Sam take it back. To make him say it was a sick joke. He refused to believe it, it hit a stone wall within his mind ... and yet certain things made sense. How he never felt like a true Stark. How his fath- ... his UNCLE would not tell him about his mother, or his past. How he was still able to live in Winterfell and be raised with Robb, with everyone ... despite ...  
He almost hit the man. He truely did. He was only able to stay his hand as he didn't want to besmirch such a sacred place as the family crypts. No matter what, no matter who fathered or mothered him, that was something he was not going to let go. The Stark in him would not allow it.  
The Targaryen part ... what was it, exactly? The name and the aura around it was something from the far south, something out of the minds and hearts of the North and all those who lived in it. Some far-away figurehead that only really mattered suddenly when his grandfather and uncle were burned and strangled, and the Rebellion began over his aunt.  
No, not his aunt. His mother. It was something that he found bizarre, in a way ... Lyanna was so central to the Starks, this whispered, almost mythical figure. And yet, Jon rarely thought of her as his aunt. His family, to him, were Ned, Robb, Arya, Rickon, Bran, and Sansa, despite the latters coolness towards him that was inspired by her mother, Catelyn. 

The Targaryens hadn't mattered too much to Jon, not until he met Daenerys.

And now his lover, the woman that brought warmth and joy to his second life, was his aunt.

Jon stared up at the statue of the woman he had thought was his aunt. Lyanna Stark, the Blue Rose of Winterfell. The one that a whole rebellion was fought over. The one that Robert Baratheon was so lovesick over ... and yet never won the heart of. Jon wondered what she was like, personally. He heard that she was as fiery as Arya, she wasn't a shy and blushing maiden as so many romantic tales portrayed her to be. Job had to assume that that was closer to the truth; she was a Wolf, after all.  
He wondered what she would make of her son. Would she be happy about how far he had come? Would she be pleased at his status? How would she have taken the Rebellion? Would she have been sad at how it all ended? What would she have said to Robert if she had lived and was safe in Winterfell with Jon?  
'Aegon Targaryen'. Really, Jon couldn't conceive living under another name. Jon Snow. That was his name. His mark. 'Aegon' was a name from history, someone who rode on dragonback to tame Westeros from the many bickering Kings and Kingdoms, with his sister-wives ...

History repeated itself, apparently, he thought bitterly. Aegon slept with his sisters, and I've somehow slept with an aunt.

Small footsteps echoed along the cold, spider-infested hallways. Jon didn't need to turn around to know who it was; he could feel her warmth coming before she was near him. He assumed it was her affinity with her dragons that gave her that gift, though it might also simply be his heightened awareness of her and her beauty. The soft crackling ot the braziers seemed to also feed off that fire, glowing brighter as she passed them.  
They looked at each other, wordless. Jon couldn't bring himself to speak. Daenerys read his expression, and decided that she didn't need to ask. Instead, she took his arm, pressing her shoulder against the fur of his cloak, as both of them looked up at the figure of a woman with a candle in her hand, and a direwolf faithfully by her side.  
"... Who's that?" Daenerys asked. She was told that the likenesses of the statues in the crypt were sometimes not a good likeness, and she had never met any Starks other than Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran. None of the graves had names, yet all of them were known and loved.  
"Lyanna Stark" Jon said, after a long pause.  
Daenerys searched her memory, going through the tales that Viserys had told her of how their House had fallen, the Rebellion ... and of the histories that she had taken the time to find out since her rise from Dothraki Khaleesi to Queen of Dragonstone. It was one thing to rely on her brother for tutoring, when he wasn't in emotional breakdowns and abusing her. It was another to enter Westeros blind and ignorant. Varys and Tyrion had made sure she had gotten histories and lineages in order to make sure she knew who was who since the last the she was in Westeros, as a newborn babe on a stormy night in Dragonstone itself.  
So, this was the woman over whom the rebellion against her father and brother started. The winner of the crown of blue roses. The one that ...  
"My brother, Rhaegar ..." Daenerys looked away from Lyanna, "Everyone told me he was decent, and kind ... He liked to sing. Gave money to poor children ..."  
She had to look back. She had to look at the woman that was done wrong by Rhaegar. She had to admit his crime, as a Targaryen, to the face of a Stark.  
"... And he raped her"

Daenerys couldn't possibly have predicted what Jon was about to say.

"He didn't"

A heavy pause. Daenerys looked at Jon, taken aback.

"He loved her"

Now she was truly confused. She looked at Lyanna again, almost silently wanting to ask her if that was true. Her gaze back to Jon, he let go of her arm, and turned to face her. His breath fogged in the chilled air, despite the braziers, and he let the truth out from his own lips.  
"They married in secret. After Rhaegar fell at the Trident, she had a son. Robert would have murdered the baby if he ever found out, Lyanna knew"  
Daenerys' brow darkened. Was there another Targaryen, one she didn't know about? A baby nephew, one that had been left to rot and abandoned? She would right this wrong, she would-  
"As she bled to death, on her birthing bed, she gave the baby to her brother, Ned Stark"

Daenerys' expression softened. Having gone through the trauma of Rhaego's birth, or stillbirth, there was immediate sympathy from the dragon Queen. But the mention of Ned Stark immediately sent a chill down her back. She immediately knew something was wrong, something was terribly wrong. She started to connect the lines. Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Father of Sansa. Of Arya. Of Bran. Of-  
"To raise, as his bastard"

Daenerys' throat clenched, her heart started to pound in her chest, so loud that it almost drowned out his next words. But they didn't, and she had to hear them.  
"My name. My ... real name. Is Aegon Targaryen"

No sooner had the word 'Targaryen' left his lips, than Daenerys turned away. She wanted to scream. She wanted to faint. She wanted to do anything, anything other than hear that news. Part of her utterly rejected it. It was too outlandish, it was too fanciful, it was too ... She couldn't explain it. She had to turn from Jon, her mind thrown into a complete meltdown, as competing parts of her tried to process this. It couldn't be true. It was too ... perfect. No-one could possibly keep the identity of a son of the crown prince a secret so long. Robert should have figured this out easily. Even if the baby was conceived in a loving relationship, Robert should have thought the baby a son of rape and dashed his brains out. Did Lyanna lie low for so long as to conceal a pregnancy? How long was she in the Tower that was supposedly named the Tower of Joy? Was that what it referred to? The joy of their love and son? Or was it a morbid mocking of an imprisoned lady? What about the nurses, the midwives, the servants, the guards? A secret like this just couldn't be kept. It just _couldn't_ ...

"It's impossible" She stated, almost giving Jon a chance to take it back. Take it back, they could forget about it, live as they had ...  
"I wish it were" His husky voice did tell that he deeply wished he didn't have this knowledge. He just wanted to go back to being Ned's bastard. Of having his place in life. He was unhappy, yes, but it was what he knew.  
"Who told you this?" With so many traitors in the night that wanted their hands on the crown, or at least the crown out of someone else's hands, Daenerys was not going to trust the word of one man.  
"Bran" A pause, "He saw it"  
"He _saw_ it?"  
"And Samwell confirmed it"  
Daenerys should have guessed. She had made an enemy of the Tarly heir, so it would suit him well to drive a wedge between them.  
"He read about it in the Citadel without knowing what it meant"  
This was growing to anger Daenerys. She looked away, whetting here lips, before continuing.  
"A secret that no-one in the world knew. Except your brother and your best friend. Doesn't seem strange to you?"

Jon knew what she was getting at. It was almost on him to accuse her of ... well, accusing his brother and best friend, but really, could he blame her? It was an intrigue more suited to King's Landing than Winterfell, and it was so watertight as well. Instead, he stepped closer to her.  
"It's true, Dany" His voice softer, using her shortened name to get through to her, as a lover. Her eyes were large and glassy, only just holding back tears.  
"If it were true" Her jaw clenched, fighting back an entire hoarde of emotions, "That would make you the last _male_ heir of House Targaryen"  
It was Jon's turn to stare. He was more focused on the fact that they were blood relations and that everything he had ever known was a lie. Daenerys was ... focusing on succession? Yes, her journey here had all been about taking her place as Queen, but still-  
"You would have a claim to the Iron Throne"

That punched him in the gut. Another throne. Yet another crown. He turned away, just as something rippled through the walls and halls of Winterfell. He strode away, not answering her, but she quickly followed him. If she thought there was going to be a confrontation, she was mistaken. Heading up to the battlements, joining a watching and sombre Tyrion, the horns were blowing all around them to summon their forces for battle. 

The dead were here.

Jon looked at Daenerys, his entire focus now on the White Walkers. He gave her a nod, signalling to her that it was time. Daenerys could scarcely believe that he had turned from this earth-shattering news to the War for the Dawn so quickly, but that was to be exacted. She said nothing, signalled nothing. Instead, she walked away.


	2. Falling into Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A condensed and slightly re-written Battle for Winterfell.

"Retreat! RETREAT!!"

Jon did not want those words to leave his lips, but as the corpse piles grew, and he knew the potential for a greater army than what they had started with, he had to sound the retreat that no-one wanted. 

Winterfell was on fire. Many walls had fallen. Rhaegal had been injured, and flew off without Jon. Daenerys still rode Drogon, and they were trying to bathe the hoards in fire. The dead had devoured a huge portion of the Dothraki, Unsullied and Northern forces; half were gone already. And there was something critical that he had noticed the moment he mounted a nearby hill with Daenerys to survey the scene.

The army of the dead, which he had witnessed in it's colossal size, was nowhere near all here.  
What's more, the Night King was missing.

His stomach had fallen through his gut at the realisation. Whatever stormclouds hovered over both the battlefield and Daenerys, they paled away when he uttered his shocked gasp.  
"They're not all here"  
"What?" Daenerys looked away from him and took in the front line of the wights. They seemed to be many in number, though the backs were completely obscured by a heavy, smothering cloud of snow and fog. She could just about make out a couple of very, _very_ tall shadows that just had to be giants.  
"This isn't the full army. Do you hear Viserion?"  
The Dragon Queen instinctively looked up, listening keenly for him, or even just the sounds of his great leathery wings on the wind. Nothing. Nothing but the howl of ice and snow.  
"No"  
"They've split the army. They've split the fucking army" Jon was close to panic, but Daenerys grabbed his arm.  
"Jon, we need to defend Winterfell. If we can take down this army, we can follow"  
The switch in nature between the two would have been comical, in a way, if it weren't for the situation they were in. Bran was so sure that the Night King would aim for him, he was sitting ready in the Godswood within Winterfell. How could he have been so wrong?

-

The stench of charred corpses, the screams of the living, the screeches of the dead. All of this leaked down into the crypts, despite the efforts to ignore or muffle the sound. Sansa swallowed, gripping the dragonglass blade in her cloak more tightly. Tyrion fretted, anxious to be a part of the battle that he had been told to hide from. Sansa could only hear him so many times, before she became irritated, and the tension in the room was as thick as the crypt walls.  
"We must stay down here" She stated, "It's the best thing we can do. The most heroic thing we can do"  
Tyrion pondered this, and had to sigh and agree. "Perhaps. You've grown very wise since we last met, Sansa"  
"I've had a lot to learn" She gave a half-smile. "You, as well. Especially the beard"  
"Do you think it suits me?"  
She considered her answer, "It makes you look ... dignified"  
"I wasn't already? I'm hurt, Lady Sansa!"  
Sansa gave a soft little laugh, making Tyrion smile.  
"It wasn't all bad, being married to me, was it"  
".. No" She shook her head, "You were kind. Especially after what happened to Robb and Mother. You were the best of all of them"  
"Well, the measure is set terribly low" He noted. Joffrey. Himself. Ramsey Bolton. Sansa's marriage prospects, despite being the eldest daughter of an ancient and respected family, were really rather poisonous it seemed.  
"And now we sit on opposite sides"  
"Opposite?" Tyrion gave her a look, "I'm the Hand of the Queen. You're the Lady of Winterfell. What opposite do you speak of? Unless you mean you are Hand of the King to Jon"  
"Jon bent the knee to Daenerys" Something that still irritated her.  
"Indeed he did. But it would be impolite to say so right now. We're not on opposite sides, Lady Sansa. We fight as one, against the Night. After the Night, who knows? There will be much rebuilding to do. No need for us to be enemies"  
Missandei watched Sansa with a distant, slightly cold expression. She could feel the distrust of her Queen radiating off the red-haired woman, and it angered her. Daenerys put her life-long goal on hold, she abandoned the fight for King's Landing in order to go North and save Westeros. Without the Dothraki and Unsullied, the North's forces would have been swallowed whole. 

"If we live" Sansa noted.  
"If we did not have the Queen" Missandei finally spoke up, having had enough of this snarky attitude hidden under polite and diplomatic language, "We would already be dead. She rides with fire, with Unsullied and Dothraki, so we may see the dawn"

Not wishing to start a war within the crypts themselves, Sansa fell silent, as Varys took everything in ...

-

Arya gasped, trying to control her breath and fight her terror. Despite it all, despite everyone building her up as this unstoppable force of nature within their minds, especially after the slaughter of the Freys, she was still a lone person. And now, she was one that was surrounded by enemies that could come back from the dead indefinately unless killed by dragonglass or fire. No manner of trick would fool them.  
Instead, she relied on controlling her breath. The raging headache from her dented forehead was not helping, and having to wipe blood constantly away from her eye was a distraction she did not need.  
The crypts. She had to get to the crypts. She had to make sure Sansa and the townsfolk were okay.  
Softly, taking in all her training to be silent and invisible, she had just managed to reach the door down to the graves when the sounds of ripping flesh and piercing screams deafened her to all other sounds.  
"NO!!" She slammed her fists on the door, "LET ME IN! LET ME IN!"

A hand pushed the door open from the inside, crashing into Arya's chest. Gilly came rushing out, clutching Little Sam, her eyes wild and her face spattered with blood.  
"THEY'RE DOWN THERE!" She shrieked, rushing past her to find somewhere else to hide, and Arya quickly stormed down the slick and bloody steps to find a slaughter in progress.  
Wights, too many to count, had crawled through the brickwork and broke into the crypts. But with them were other wights. some no more than skeletons wrapped in gristle and fine clothing. An echoing howl made it clear, made it so terribly clear, what was causing the sound, and Arya felt her nerves collapse in on themselves.  
The dead walked, and they had woken up the Starks with them.

The heavy stone tombs of the Starks kept most of the dead in their final resting places. The strongest, however, were breaking through, and attacking anyone in their way. Just as Arya turned the corner, she was confronted with the headless corpse of a direwolf.  
Grey Wind. She barely had time to realise who he was, before noticing his owner behind him. Robb Stark, the King in the North. Missing his head, still screeching in his tomb, it was still clearly him, with the knife wounds still clear on his body.  
Arya let out a sound more akin to an animal than to a person. Almost automatically, she drew the Catspaw dagger, thrusting the blade into Grey Wind's chest. Sickly, she felt the congealed blood pool around her hand, but it did what it was supposed to do, and he dropped down again.  
It was one thing to do to a decapitated direwolf. It was another to do to her brother. Tears obscured her vision as she raised the dagger again, dodging the arms swiping at her, and stabbed Robb directly in the heart. She uttered a pained cry, looking at the direwolf clasps of his cloak, knowing that this was supposed to be for his wedding day celebration, only to be turned into his burial uniform. 

She had no time to think, no time to _feel_, before the sounds of Sansa's distress cut through the noise of wights attacking the defenceless villagers of Wintertown.

"Sansa, MOVE!" Tyrion was pulling at her with all his might, but she stood still, transfixed, staring at the form of Ned Stark in front of her. His head, in an act of mercy, had been sewn back to the rest of his body. But the cost of this was a sight that brought up every single agonising moment of his execution. Sansa's throat was raw from her crying, she became that young girl again in King's Landing, begging hysterically for her father's life. But instead of a member of the King's Guard pinning her arms to her sides and holding her back, it was Tyrion trying to pull her away.  
"WE MUST GO!"  
"Father, I'm sorry!" Sansa stared at the blue-eyed figure of the man who had once been her father. Though she knew this was a wight, and not truly Ned Stark, she couldn't help herself, "Please, I'm so sorry! I begged him not to do it! We begged him!"  
The wight took no notice of her pleas, only wanting to destroy and devour. A large piece of masonry stopped him, however, one thrown at his head by Arya to grab his attention.  
Slowly, he turned on his heel, as Tyrion tried again and again to take Sansa away from such a dreadful sight. His fixed gaze rested on Arya. Even if this had been the true Ned, it would not be hard for him to not recognise his daughter for a few moments. She had grown so much, but she had the Stark profile, and fashioned her hair in a style he had worn. She stared at him, having been spared seeing his execution by his own wishes. The dreadfulness had flooded to her as well, and for a moment she could not move either.  
"I'm sorry ..." A tear rolled down her bruised and bloodied cheek. The wight placed his hand around her throat, choking her, lifting her in the air. She scrabbled against him, trying to get her dagger close enough to hit him ...  
Instead, the fatal blow came from behind him. Sansa wrenched herself free of the thrall his stare had on her, and had pulled out the dragonglass dagger she had been armed with by Arya herself. Quickly, she stabbed it as hard and as far into the flesh as it would go, causing the wight to emit an ear-piercing shriek from the gap in his throat. Immediately, he dropped, his hold on Arya gone, and Sansa reached forward to pull her little sister to her chest.  
"Oh, my Gods ..." She sobbed, openly, hysterically, "Oh my Gods ..."

Arya simply blinked, then passed into unconciousness ...

-

A trail of soldiers and carts left the smoking ruins of Winterfell as quickly as they could. Daenerys and Drogon burned through any wights trying to follow, but exhaustion was making the waves wider and wider apart. Jon rode on his horse, constantly circling the party to ensure no-one was caught offguard. Winterfell was lost, the only thing they could do was flee with whomever they had left. A headcount revealed who had lived and who had died, but the important thing for him was that his sisters and Bran were still alive. Bran, so confident that he would draw the Night King, was left empty and lost. He was silent in the cart that carried him, accompanied by Sansa and Arya. Brienne followed their cart on her own horse, still keeping to her promise to Catelyn Stark that she would look after them. Jaime was towards the back, keeping an exhausted eye out. Grey Worm and Missandei rode together, astride the same injured horse. Grey Worm himself felt a sense of shame; the Unsullied were undefeated, and 'retreat' wasn't a word they used frequently.

Still, they had to keep moving. Moving south, to the closest stronghold, to find somewhere to gather their thoughts and regroup their armies ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thought of doing the entire re-write for the Battle of Winterfell was exhausting in and of itself, so I've done a potted version with something that SHOULD have happened in the episode, damnit. I just wanted to fast-track to the character stuff, honestly.


	3. Awash in Greywater Watch

Greywater Watch. The home of House Reed. A name that was loyal to the Starks for many, many generations, and had been loyal to the past and present Lords as well. Jon did not have to say much to have the gates opened to him; though he had bent the knee to Daenerys, he was still recognised by the North as their King, and the walls stood welcome to any son of Stark. The tattered, ragged, soot-stained banners of House Stark still snarled defiantly as they fluttered past the slithering crocodile of the Reed banners, both dangerous predators but standing strong against a more dangerous beast.

Sansa was first out of her cart. She had been travelling with Arya and Bran, both were silent in their reflections. Bran was alone in his thoughts, as he usually was, wondering and seeking out the Night King. Arya, for her part, was still shell-shocked at seeing her dead father and brother in such a short space of time. She hadn't seen them for so long when they were alive ... and seeing them dead, dead at the hands of treacherous Lannisters and Freys, was quite something.  
At least she had all the male Frey's blood on her hands, she reassured herself. She had avenged Robb and her mother. She would avenge her father too.  
Jon quickly dismounted, striding over to Sansa with terror still etched on their faces.  
"How are-"  
"We're fine" It was only a half-lie. They were fine physically. Mentally, not so much, "Quick, we need to speak to Howland Reed, we need to make sure we are protected for now"  
"Have you seen Dany?"  
Sansa shook her head, "Her dragon flew past a few miles back, but nothing since"  
He hadn't seen Rhaegal since the dragon crashed with him on his back. Jon was torn between going to look for her, or treating with Howland Reed, but Sansa quickly saw the indecision on his face.  
"I'll speak to Lord Reed, you go and make sure everyone is in the Gate, then when we have a count, we can look for Daenerys. If anyone will know where she is, then her Unsullied men will"

Jon could weep for Sansa's thoughtfulness. He was no good talking to Lords, not at a time like this, he wanted to know who was here and who was lost, he wanted to know just how many were left to try and fight the dead. He made his rounds, going through each of the soldiers as they naturally split themselves into little enclaves to count their own forces. The Unsullied, with an injured Grey Worm. The Lannisters, with Jaime Lannister in the centre. The Tullys, Edmure somehow keeping on. The Knights of the Vale, with a man serving in place of Yohn Royce. The Starks, of course, answering to him.  
"My Lord, we've lost over half our men" A Stark bannerman came to him, "Many more are hurt, we need medicine right away"  
Jon nodded, "I'll see what I can do, thank you. Where is Lady Lyanna Mormont?"  
"She's gone, she was taken down by a wight giant. She went out fierce, roaring like a she-bear"  
Jon closed his eyes, bowing his head at the news. Lyanna may have been a ruling Lady, but she was still very young, "And Jorah Mormont?"  
"... House Mormont is no more, my Lord"  
"... We must send a raven to Bear Island when we can"   
"Yes, my Lord ..."

He was surprised, though he wasn't sure why, at Jaime Lannister's survival. He was sitting in the middle of his men, his golden hand heavily damaged and partially melted from the fires at Winterfell. A Lannister man was sewing closed a deep gash in his shoulder as Jon approached, nodding his head respectfully as one Commander to another.  
"How many of your men have arrived?" Jon wasn't entirely sure how to address him, but talking about military matters suited them both.  
"Two-thirds, though a lot are injured. Good men remaining, though. You?"  
"I haven't gotten the figures for everyone" Something in his gut told him to keep some information back from Jaime, though he couldn't pinpoint why. Perhaps Sansa's heightened suspicion of everyone had gotten to him, "What about Lady Brienne?"  
"Ser Brienne" Jaime corrected him, but let it go, "She's okay, just resetting a shoulder"  
Right on cue, a high bellowed scream echoed around them. Jon looked up, aghast, while Jaime winced in sympathy.  
"And that's it reset, I hope. We've lost Podrick Payne, sadly. My brother, despite everything, is also safe"  
Tyrion. How had he forgotten Tyrion? He half-wondered where he was, but decided other matters demanded his attention first.

The Unsullied were tending to their own needs, Jon was half-shocked to see them tending their own wounds, many doing so with stoic expressions. Grey Worm himself was pulling a piece of metal from between his own ribs, Missandei keeping either side of the wound clean and wiping away the blood, despite the anguished look on her face. Gritting his teeth, he managed to free the offending shrapnel, quickly pressing a pad of linen against the weeping gash as another Unsuilled brought over a suture kit to seal it closed.  
"Commander Grey Worm" He addressed the man. Both he and Missandei looked at Jon, and he almost recoiled from the mild hostility that they both greeted him with, "How many of your men have survived"  
"We do not know yet" Grey Worm looked down at the soldier stitching him up, a theme around the camps at the moment, "We will tell our Queen when she arrives"  
"When did you last see her?"  
"A few miles ago" Missandei answered, looking up at Jon with slight worry in her eyes. Though she did not doubt that Drogon would keep her safe, she still feared for the safety of Daenerys, "She will be where her dragons are"  
Jon's frown deepened, but he said nothing. Giving a polite nod, he made his way to the Knights of the Vale. These were fewer, and he was somewhat surprised to see Tyrion speaking to the representative of Yohn Royce. Was this something he should be party to?  
"My Lord" Tyrion nodded respectfully. Jon was too exhausted to correct people addressing him like that. Names, titles, they didn't matter, not while the wights were still rasping in the night, "I was speaking to the Knights, about the possibility of retreating to the Vale. The Eyrie has not been conquered in all it's time, and only accessible by dragonback"  
"The Night King has a dragon" Jon pointed out, annoyed.  
"And our Queen has two. Our odds are better, and the path to the Eyrie has defences that are unique and perfect for holding fast"  
Jon had lapsed into silence, thinking about the Eyrie. Could ... could the Night King have flown there instead? Or had he simply gone to King's Landing to end it at the seat of highest power?  
"All Knights must return to the Vale" He suddenly commanded, "As soon as your men are well, return there, and let Sweet Robin know that the army of the dead may come for them before anyone"  
Both the representative and Tyrion looked alarmed.  
"Surely they wouldn't- I mean, you are losing good men, and they may be caught on their way there"  
"They must defend their Lord against the dead. As you said, the Eryie is perfect for that. Go as fast as you can, if you hear or see the dead, RUN back here"

Jon left before either could argue. He didn't actually want to face the Tully forces at the moment; it reminded him too much of Catelyn, and Edmure would be better listening to his niece Sansa than his ... whatever Jon was to him.  
Looking to the clear, cold sky, he could see a dull sun, but no dragons. The dawn was here, but it brought no respite for them, not yet. At least the skies did not have the smothering blizzard that meant that the dead were approaching. They were still slow to walk. That was something currently in their favour.  
"Jon" Speaking of Sansa, she approached him, her breath cloudy in the air, "Lord Reed says we are welcome to breakfast with him, get warm again"  
Jon nodded, "I'll bring Arya and Bran ..."

-

Arya's hands were shaking around her mug of spiced wine, warmed to help lessen the chill in the air. Jon mentioned drinking it at the wall, and for a moment it reminded her of Ned Stark offering her sips of wine when much younger. Father ... she shut her eyes and loudly sipped at her mug, as Sansa looked at her out the corner of her eye. Jon was sitting opposite them at the table they had been given in Greywater's great hall; other men were clustered around their own tables, taking in breakfast at Lord Reed's pleasure. He seemed to be looking at Jon in particular, and Jon had a very good idea why.  
"What happened in the crypts" He asked, looking between Sansa and Arya.  
"Nothing" Sansa stated quickly, but Arya overruled her.  
"Father" A pause, "We ... we saw Father. And Robb. And Grey Wind"  
"..." Jon stared at her, wanting her to take it back. He glanced at SAnsa, and her bowed head told him that Arya was telling the truth. He swallowed hard, "What then?"  
"I ... I had to stop both Grey Wind and Robb. I-they ... they're resting now. When we get Winterfell back, we'll let them rest again"  
"Father?"  
"I stopped him" Sansa's eyes were full of tears, "He had Arya by the throat ... I didn't want to, Jon, I really didn't, but he was going to kill Arya, I-"  
Jon quickly stood. Both sisters looked at him, unsure of what he was going to do ... until he rounded the table and grabbed both of them in a tight, comforting hug. Three heads coming together as one, as three wolves mourned a second death of their loved ones. Sansa's sobs were dulled by the comforting space, and Jon screwed his eyes shut to stop his own tears at the thought of his little sisters having to kill the wight forms of their father and brother ...

"Lord Snow" Howland Reed approached Jon, a hand on his shoulder. Jon looked up and round at him, the red eyes of Sansa and Arya also meeting his gaze.  
"We need to talk"

-

"You knew who my father was"  
"Yes" Howland sighed out of his nose. They were speaking in his private chambers. This was a day he never thought would come, but since the dead were coming for them, it was possibly best that he broach the topic. He never intended to let Ned's secret go, but something inside him told him that Jon needed to know. If a man had to go to his grave, he deserved to go knowing that he was loved so much that his past had to be hidden from his 'father's best friend to prevent him from being murdered.  
"The Tower of Joy ... Aunt Lyanna ..."  
"Ned Stark was an honourable man. He was the most honourable man I knew. He would have done anything to get Lyanna back, he would have slaughtered a thousand dragons with his bare hands if it meant she was returned safe and her honour avenged. Despite that, he wasn't willing to challenge without due respect. I still remember his words, clear as day .. ."Where's my sister?". And Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, he simply said "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come". It was such a powerful set of words. We had told him Rhaegar was dead, we had told him the Mad King was gone. But he was resolute in defending the Tower in his Prince's name. We thought, why is he still doing this? Sheer honour? "And now it begins". Ned was determined it was going to end that day, even if it was against the best swordsman in the world ..."

"He would have died" Howland looked Jon straight in the eye, looking down into his soul, "He might have disarmed Arthur of one of his swords, but that would have not been enough. I did a dishonourable thing, in the name of my Lord. I stabbed a man in the back. I almost didn't hear Lyanna screaming over everything. I was wounded, I thought it my duty, but it was cowardly. Then he went into the Tower, and he came back out with this little bundle in his bloodsoaked hands. All wrapped up in linen, there was you. A little wolf cub"

"I asked what he was going to do. He said 'Lyanna's dead, I need to protect him'. So, I thought, that little baby is Lyanna's boy. I asked his name. He thought for a long minute, and he said 'Jon. Jon is his name'. I never thought how perfect that was at that time. Jon Arryn wasn't his father, but he was the closest thing to him. And he named you after him. You, the son that he never fathered, but was every inch a father to"  
Jon looked down. Though he had been told by Bran, by Sam, it still made something deep inside himself ache knowing the truth. He was uneasy, unhappy, being the bastard of a noble Lord ... but this was something he didn't want. He wanted to go back, to simply being Ned Stark's illegitimate son, the Bastard of Winterfell ...  
"And everytime I saw you, I knew. He knew I knew. And we pledged to never, _ever_ let the truth be known. You were Lyanna's son, you were the last reminder in the flesh of the sister he had loved and lost. The one that caused a great war, due to Robert's possessiveness. He knew that Robert would dash your brains out if he knew. Even if Lyanna didn't carry you willingly. Ned was never going to let that happen to you. He took the stain to his honour, like a man, in the name of keeping you safe and warm. And everytime I see you, I see Ned looking back at me. Not the dragon Prince. Everyone believed him, because you are Ned's blood, and by the Old Gods, do you look it. Now look at you; King in the North, like your brother Robb before you. Lyanna would have been proud of you. She would have been really proud"

"So why tell me now?" Jon looked up at him, "Why now?"  
"The dead are coming, son. Now's the time to let the past and the truth free. I did a coward's act with that dagger and Dayne. This is my punishment. I'm staying in Greywater, let the dead come, I will fight. I didn't want you thinking that your father was a man with a terrible past. I wanted to set it right, in my own way. Ned'll have my hide in the next life, but at least I can say you know"  
"I'm not Ned Stark's son. I'm his ... I'm his nephew"  
"You're his son in the eyes of the North" Howland Reed reminded him, "You've got his blood. You're no pretender. You've got the Stark blood in you, no matter who mothered or fathered you"

Jon paused, then stood up slowly, "Thank you, Lord Reed. I ... I feel that I need to speak with my family now"  
"To tell them?"  
"Tell them the truth. Let it all out once and for all ..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taken from an outline that proports to be the original of how S8 was supposed to go. I will be taking liberties with it, especially since I have skipped a very large portion of the Battle of Winterfell, but let's keep going and see where we go.


	4. Under a Weirwood Tree

"Where is Bran?"  
"There is a Weirwood in the swamps, Bran could sense it. A couple of our men have taken him to it" Sansa watched Jon's face carefully, waiting for him to say something about the danger. It was quite something to get all of their men into the Watch, considering the marshfields, but the cold had helped solidify the land and aid their horses, "He will be safe, Jon, he will see the dead before us and-"

"We need to talk"

His tone was personal, private, not one of a King and leader. Sansa was going to guess this had something to do with Daenerys. Since their rather prickly little chat in the library at Winterfell, the feeling between the two was frosty. Why shouldn't it be? Both powerful women, both knew treachery, neither wanted to be under someone elses' yoke. And the one bond they had, apart from perhaps some shared life experience, was Jon. A brother, a lover, a King.  
"If this is to do-"  
"Now" Jon's voice left no time for debate, and the abruptness took her a little by surprise. Normally that one was for when he was supremely angry ... or when something just could not wait. She was going to guess this was the latter.  
"Arya too. Meet me and Bran under the tree"  
"Jon, what's this about?" A sorely Stark meeting? This was troubling. Was it going to be about Winterfell? The succession? If it were anything else, he would have invited Davos or Tyrion or even Daenerys. The fact she was not invited said a lot.  
"I'll tell you when you get there" Jon left the room, slamming the door behind him with a little too much force. Sansa blinked, and looked at Ghost, who returned her bemused stare before getting up and nudging the door open to follow his master.

-

"I have something to tell you"  
"Jon, what's this about?" Sansa pressed again, as the four remaining Starks gathered together under the shade of the weirwood tree. Snow fell softly around them, a patch of green grass still open due to the red leaves above. Blood-coloured sap poured from the mouth and eyes of the carved face, a grim reminder of the horrors from the North, and of horrors still to come.  
Bran said nothing. He knew what was about to be said, and Arya was on alert, her eyes darting between Sansa and Jon. Jon wanted so badly to rid her forehead of the swollen, blackened bump that she had gotten from the harsh walls of Winterfell. Now was not the time.

"Before I tell you, you have to swear you will not tell another soul. Not. Another. Soul"  
The hair on the back of Sansa's neck stood on end. She really, _really_ did not like where this was going.  
"Swear it"  
Arya stared at Jon, and he stared back. Her expression was tense, a touch of fright, in case something else was taken from her. His was one of pure sadness, regret, as though this _would_ take something from them.  
"I swear" Her voice was soft, low, offering her heart to be broken. Jon felt even worse than he had before, if it were possible.  
Their gaze turned to Sansa.  
Not for the first time, the red-haired woman felt under the spotlight, and one she didn't want. But for the first time, it was one shone on her by her family, and it burned her a lot harsher.  
"... I swear" Her swear didn't sound as authentic as Aryas, so she added, "I swear on the stones of Winterfell, of our ancestors"  
Santisfied, the three looked to Bran. Though he didn't say much these days, he had spoken to someone, Sam, and it was Sam who had the hard evidence. They had to make sure Bran didn't spread it further.  
"I swear" His usual, distant voice.   
Finally. Jon took a long, long breath, and began to pour it out.

"My name ... is not Jon Snow"  
A pregnant pause, as the sisters tried to understand what he meant.  
"You mean ... it's Jon Stark? 'Cause I've seen a paper from Robb, he said-"  
"I'm not a Stark" Jon didn't really hear Ayra, too pressed with getting what needed to be said out of his mouth. He was looking down, glaring, almost wanting to burn a hole into the ground in his anger and confusion. Arya stopped talking, probably a better idea of Jon was this tense and snappish.  
"My name is Aegon Targaryen. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. They were married, in secret ..."  
Sheer shock coated the air, already silent with the comforting sounds of snowfall. Sansa and Arya simply stared at Jon, unable to believe what they were hearing.   
"Aunt Lyanna-" Sansa started, before Jon interrupted.  
"She wasn't raped by Rhaegar. They were in love ... He, he had his marriage annulled. There's a record of it, in the Citadel, in a forgotten journal. I was born in the Tower of Joy"  
"Father-"  
"Lyanna asked Fath- ... her brother" Jon couldn't call Ned his uncle, he couldn't, he only knew him as Father, "To look after the baby. She was dying, she had lost a lot of blood. Robert would have killed me, if he knew"  
A light dawned in the back of Sansa's eyes. It made sense, it suddenly made sense. Why her father was so cagey around Robert, why he hid Jon away, pretending it was because he was a bastard and her mother didn't approve. Well, it would have been mostly because her mother would have become enraged at the disgrace to her honour. Her mother ... her mother hated Jon so much. Thought he was a representation of Ned's 'sin'. If only she knew ...  
Arya, not knowing as much about the air of the household as Sansa, took slightly longer. Part of her simply didn't want to take it in. It was another part of her world taken away, and she just refused. She absolutely refused.  
"I was named after Jon Arryn, but my name is-"  
"Jon Snow" Arya snapped, "Your name is Jon. 'Aegon'? Who is 'Aegon'? I'd rather eat a live rat than call you that"  
Jon looked up, rather taken aback by the abrupt language. Sansa turned to Bran, wanting to know the obvious.  
"Is it true?"  
Bran nodded slowly, "I saw it all. The wedding. The birth. The promise. All of it. It's true"  
Very quickly, Sansa made her calculations.  
"Who else knows"  
"Just me. Bran. Sam. Dany. And now, you"  
Daenerys. She supposed that she should know.   
"Why did you tell her?"  
"Because she has the right to know, Sansa" Jon become defensive, with a touch of hostility, "I've been sleeping with my damn aunt, I couldn't not tell her!"  
"But has _she_ told anyone?" Sansa wouldn't let go. Jon paused, and shook his head.  
"I don't think she would. She doesn't want to believe it. It would make me the last male Targaryen"  
"And heir" Sansa pointed out, and Jon came down on the idea like a ton of stone.   
"I'm not the heir. I don't want the damn throne, I don't want _any_ throne. If we don't defeat the Night King, there won't _be_ a throne"  
"Do you think Daenerys would hurt you to get it?" Arya asked. She saw where her sister was going, or so she thought.  
Jon shook his head, though he knew that Sansa probably would not believe it, "No. She wouldn't want anyone to know"  
"Good" Sansa stood straight, "Then no-one has to. You. Me. Arya. Bran. Daenerys. We can all keep this a secret. We can let this truth live in the dark again"  
"And Sam?"   
Arya was close to making a joke about killing him, but she wasn't entirely sure that would go over well. She got the impression that Sam and Jon had had a falling out of some kind; this was probably why. She probably _could_ do it without many tears, but that would leave Sam's wife and son without someone. She couldn't do that to them while the War for the Dawn was still ongoing. She was ruthless, but not entirely heartless.

"You said it was in a journal. I'll handle that" Arya said firmly, "No journal, no proof unless Bran says so. And if Bran is keeping silent ..." She looked to Bran, who merely looked back, "Then who is to prove it?"  
"..." Jon paused. That ... that was an idea. And one that would work without bloodshed.  
"As far as we are concerned, you're a Stark. Father's blood is still in your veins" Arya pointed out, "Aunt Lyanna is your brother. Father's sister. That makes you a Stark"  
"..." That was appealing to Jon, and he offered a half smile, "I ... could go back to being the Bastard of Winterfell"  
"No more" Sansa drew herself up, straight and tall, "This ends now"  
"Sansa" Arya's tone was a warning, "What are you doing"  
"I, Sansa Stark of House Stark, Wardeness of the North, heir to Eddard Stark, hereby decree that Jon Snow, the King in the North, Blood of Eddard Stark, is legitimate"  
Jon stared at her, stunned, "Sansa, I-"  
"You are hereby recognised by the eldest trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully as the Son of Ned Stark. Brother to Robb, Brother to Sansa, Brother to Arya, Brother to Bran, Brother to Rickon. With my permission, you may adopt a Direwolf sigil. In honour of Ghost, I declare your colours shall be a White Direwolf on a Grey Back"  
"... "Jon didn't know how to react. Sansa merely smiled, chuckling a little with his reaction.  
"Well? You're a King, you can finalise it ... only a King can fully legitimise"  
"... Jon?" Arya watched his face, "I know you keep calling yourself a bastard, you keep saying you're just a half-brother ... but not to us. Not to us. You're not my half-brother, or my bastard brother. You're my _brother_. You've always been my brother. Please ... be our brother again. Now you can be our brother forever"  
"It's what Father would have wanted" Bran added. That was as true as anything said before. Ned Stark did everything in his power to keep his sister's son alive. To keep him safe. He had promised to tell Jon about his mother the next time he met; he couldn't do that now, but being a legitimate Stark would hold his place in the family in the pages of history.

"... I ..."  
"Please" Sansa watched him with her light-blue eyes, honest, "I've done everything I can to make sure Littlefinger couldn't get his claws in you. We're all home again, after travelling far and being torn apart. We're not at Winterfell, but we are still together. I thought I was supposed to be like the Lannisters and King's Landing; pomp and ceremony, knights and Princes ... But, it turns out, they are ..."  
"Full of shit?" Arya prompted, causing Sansa to laugh.  
"Yes, exactly. I shouldn't have felt the need to become 'more'. I was caught in the romantic idea of court, rather than what it really is. Rotting flesh under gold leaf. I'm a Northerner. Proud. Strong. True. As Father said, 'The Lone Wolf Dies, But The Pack Survives'. That Sansa died a long time ago. I'm with my family. My pack. And I'm not going to lose them again. We've had our differences, Jon. It's differences that shouldn't have come up, but now I know why they were there. I can't change the past. But I can look to the future. Throne or no Throne, Night King or no Night King. I want to greet the dawn or watch it fade knowing where I am in the world. And I want you to know where you are too"  
"And if you don't do it, I'll stick you with the pointy end" Arya added, a cheeky smile on her face, before it faded to a more sincere smile.  
"..." Jon couldn't _not_ do it. Not when he had all three of them looking at him like that. It was almost like they were young again, looking up to their big brothers Jon and Robb. Asking for piggy-back rides, wanting to tease the Master-At-Arms, playing pranks on the stable-hands, demanding stories of great heroes and the Long Night ...

"I ... Jon S- ... Jon, King In The North, recognise and approve Lady Sansa's petition to legitimise the bastard son of Eddard Stark. I am ... I am Jon Stark. Of House Stark"  
"Welcome back to the family, Jon Stark" Sansa brought Jon over closer to Bran, Arya joining them, and all four collectively embraced. Jon had to fight back tears, fight back decades of longing, yearning to be a complete member of the family. Without the glare of Catelyn, without the shame and the guilt that he now knew did not even have a reason to be there. The four Wolves of Winterfell together, fighting against the Long Night, as they should have been from the very beginning.

He only wished Ned were here to see it.

"Robb was going to do this, y'know" Ayra broke the silence after a while. They remained in the huddle, sharing their warmth and creating a small circle with their heads to block out the outside world, "I saw a paper on Sansa's desk"  
"Did you?" Jon sounded confused. Why would he want to do such a thing? He almost abandoned the Night's Watch to join his brother, true, but never thought Robb would do that. Certainly not with Catelyn around.  
Sansa nodded, "It's true. I found it in the archives. If Robb died in the War of the Five Kings without an heir, he wanted to make _you_ his heir. Remember; I was in King's Landing with the Lannisters, Arya, Bran and Rickon were missing. There was only you, and Robb still free"  
Jon's heart ached, making the pain of his brother's death seem more recent than it actually was. And it also brought back the pain of Rickon's death. How he tried so hard to save him. And his father, his noble father ...  
Tears started to pour down his face. The mourning he had pushed aside for many, many years suddenly caught up with him, along with the long-realised dream of legitimization. He never thought he'd have it, it would have caused so many problems between Ned and Cat, and he never wanted to fight his brother for Winterfell. He just wanted to be a Stark, to have the name and a place, not the power that came with it. At least, not after he grew out of the stage where he wanted power in the way any little boy would want it.  
"Stannis offered to legitimise me" He said, his voice raspy with emotion, "Said 'I'll give you Winterfell, just give me men to take it from the Boltons'"  
"And you said no?" It was Sansa's turn to be surprised.  
"How could I have said yes? I was sworn to the Night's Watch for life. If I broke that oath ... what good were any that I gave as a Lord of Winterfell? I was tempted Sansa, so tempted. But he had the Red Woman with him, and she kept talking about her Lord of Light, and what a worthless promise my oath was. 'Giving it to a tree', she called it. I was so angered, I just ... She would cut down the weirwood, I knew she would. Gut the Godswood. I couldn't allow that to happen. I took my oath in a Godswood, the Old Gods are ours. I was never going to let her destroy something that had been in the care of the Starks for centuries, before there was even such a thing as Red Gods. It would be taking it away from the rest of the Starks, I would be jumping over their graves to claim what wasn't mine"  
Sansa knew she had more than made the right choice. She tightened her arm around Jon, giving a small, shuddery sigh.  
"So many have tried to make us turn on each other. We have overcome them all. No-one can use that against you now. No-one can use you against us. We are one pack, one family"  
"And if anyone has a problem with it, I'll sort them out" Arya added, gaining a small laugh out of Jon and Sansa.  
"This is what Father would have wanted ..." Bran said softly, repeating his earlier words.  
"Together"   
"Together"  
"Together"  
"The Lone Wolf Dies" Four voices stated in unison, under the watchful gaze of the weirwood tree, "But The Pack Survives ..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a definitive list of where all the weirwoods were, but nothing said Greywater and the surrounding areas DIDN'T have one, so this is artistic liberty taken here.


End file.
